


The Ruby Pendant

by prompt_fills



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Shippy Gen, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: The task of finding and rescuing two missing girls proved to be more complicated than Athos thought it would be.Athos/d'Artagnan pre-slash, if you squint extra hard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett) for being my beta. My wonderful, patient, friendly and throughout beta. Thank you! You’re a saint! ♥  
> Any remaining mistakes are mine because I decided to do some minor last minute editing.  
> [Dreamlittleyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo) did a lovely cover art for this story! Check out the beauty:

 

✣✣✣✣

Athos was sleeping soundly and did not wake when Aramis barged into his room. It was a few hours after midnight – not long after Athos had been thrown out of the tavern and had staggered back to his rented room to sleep off another of his drunken endeavours.

Aramis did not care about how late it was or how drunk his companion had got the night before. He crossed the room, whispering urgently, “They’ve found them, they’ve found them!”

“Dead?” Athos slurred in his sleep.

Two insistent hands shook his shoulders. “Wake up! Athos, wake up. They’ve found where they’re holding them!”

“Good,” Athos mumbled and instinctively pulled away, fully intending to sleep until the dawn.

Aramis grabbed hold of him and forced him to sit up on the bed. Athos groaned, displeased, and opened his eyes to glare at his friend’s silhouette in the darkness. A cup of cold water was offered to him. He took it without a word.

“Have they found both of them?” Athos croaked after he’d downed the contents of the cup.

“I hope we will find them,” Aramis said, taking the cup from Athos, setting it on the table, picking up Athos’ clothes from the chair and returning to the bed, “We chanced on information about where the girls are being kept. Tréville’s decided to entrust their rescue to us.” Aramis set the clothes on the bed and started pacing the small room.

Athos quickly dressed. “Are there any hopes that they’re both alive?”

“Count Naudé certainly hopes so, he has great faith in us.” Aramis’ voice was quiet and, as Athos’ eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see how tightly was Aramis holding onto his cross. “It would be best if we set off immediately.”

Athos finished getting dressed, securing his sword and his musket to their holders. “Where is Porthos?”

“Fetching d’Artagnan.”

“Ah.” Athos grabbed his pouch from underneath the pillow on his bed, peered in to make sure there still were some coins left, and gestured to the door. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Athos,” Aramis sighed. “Give the boy a chance.”

“I have no problem with him,” Athos assured him. “Now, I believe we have at least some general directions?”

Aramis let the argument go for now. They had things of greater importance to focus on. “Even better, a letter has been intercepted.”

“Between the kidnappers?”

“Not quite, my dear friend,” Aramis said. “The letter was to be delivered to the count tomorrow, stating where the girls are being kept and how the money should be exchanged for their lives.”

Athos nodded.

“The boy who was tasked with delivering the letter in the morning stopped in a tavern out of Paris and, as he was generously paid in advance, he started to spend in earnest, and talk nonsense.”

Aramis then explained how two of their musketeers returning from Guignes overheard the boy boasting about his easily earned money, which roused their suspicions. When the boy was drunk enough, they took his letter and upon reading what stood in it, they hurried to report the whole event to their captain.

“Then we hardly have enough time,” exclaimed Athos. “He might have already alarmed them by now. And if he is on the run for having lost the letter, they would still expect the answer to reach them and grow suspicious when it does not.”

“Our musketeers didn’t take the letter from him! It will be delivered later today, just as was planned by the kidnappers,” Aramis assured him. “The boy will never know anything. It must look like all is going according to their plans. If they had any suspicion their plans have been compromised, the girls’ lives would be in a grave danger.”

“As if they weren’t already,” Athos grunted, then he quieted his voice to a mere whisper as they entered the streets. “Where are the horses?”

“Porthos is bringing them.”

“Good.”

No other words were spoken between them as they quietly crept through the streets.

✣✣✣✣

Porthos and d’Artagnan were already waiting for them behind the city walls.

Porthos was attempting to control his mare. She had a common grey colour, a quick trot, she was very agile and did not tire easily but she was prone to frolicking. Usually, she was very mild in nature, unless Porthos was the one mounting her. He won her by playing dice with one foolish merchant from Perche and Porthos had been trying to show her ever since that he could be just as stubborn as she was.

If she got Porthos into trouble, it would not be the first time.

Aramis and Athos touched the brims of their hats in greeting. They were still relatively close to the city and did not want to draw any attention to themselves. The cardinal’s guards were always eager to overhear any late-night or early-morning conversations.

D’Artagnan was holding the reins of the remaining three stallions. Athos took his horse from d’Artagnan, being careful that their fingers did not brush. The horse nickered faintly, leaning to greet Athos. He spared a moment to pat the horse’s massive neck and the horse shook his head slightly. Athos checked the girths and, shoving his foot into the stirrup, he drew himself up.

The four of them rode into the night, Aramis and Porthos leading the way, d’Artagnan following close behind, Athos riding last in their group. The road was wide enough to allow two riders to travel side by side. Twice, d’Artagnan slowed down, giving Athos a chance to catch up, but Athos ignored him both times, slowing the pace as well.

Once the city had been safely left in the distance behind them, Porthos and Aramis chose a small clearing in the woods to stop. Only then did they speak.

“We know both of the girls are being kept at the same place,” Porthos started to explain.

“If the information in the message is correct, they are being held about three leagues further north from here,” Aramis added.

Athos halted his horse at Aramis horse’s near side. “Through Clichy, then?”

Aramis shook his head. “With all the rain we’ve been getting the past few days, the fields would be as bad to cross as marshlands.”

“But it’s nearer,” d’Artagnan protested and as much as Athos hated to agree with the boy, he thought the same. They should try to get through the path that lead directly to where they were needed rather than taking the detour and risk losing precious time.

“Even if the terrain proves to be difficult, it would still be faster,” Athos said.

D’Artagnan either did not or could not hide his surprised expression upon hearing Athos’ agreement. “It stopped raining at midday,” the Gascon added after a brief moment of silence.

Aramis seemed to consider it, then he nodded. “Perhaps we should part? Then we will know that at least two of us would be there in time.”

“Excellent idea,” Porthos said, diligently watching his mare so she would not start grazing on the nearby grass.

Aramis turned to Athos as if he expected his friend to voice his protests at the solution but Athos would not give him the pleasure.

“Anything else we should know about the girls?” Athos asked instead.

The night was too dark for Athos to see Aramis’ expression clearly. “I don’t think so. We should meet in front of the ruins by the village before the sunrise.”

Athos nudged his horse. “Don’t wait for us if we’re not there by then. If the sun is up before we arrive, we could try to ride east and cut off the road back to Paris.”

“Until then.”

The four friends parted; Aramis and Porthos rode to the east, chatting merrily, Athos and d’Artagnan silently continued through the forest to the northwest.

✣✣✣✣

The night was cloudy but it did not start to rain again and the horses carried Athos and d’Artagnan farther and farther from Paris. The path they chose was slippery but rideable and much shorter than the one to the east that Aramis and Porthos had opted for.

They came upon a shallow brook they needed to cross and they allowed the horses a moment to refresh themselves.

They were about to continue when d’Artagnan halted his horse. “Athos,” he hissed and gestured with his hand for Athos to pause as well.

Athos drew near him, his horse shifting its weight when they came to a stop a few steps shy of entering the stream. Athos leaned close to the boy to hear him better. D’Artagnan turned his face away from him and Athos’ chest tightened. “What? Is something the matter?” he asked tersely.

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “Your breath reeks.”

Athos snorted. “That’s not why you made us stop. I assume something unsettled you?”

“Not me, the horse,” d’Artagnan gestured to his horse. Its ears were twitching, from left to right, turning back and then to the left again.

“Yes?” Athos took of his hat, run a hand through his hair and put his hat on again.

“He can hear something.”

“Ah.”

“No, trust me on this, Athos,” d’Artagnan insisted, displeased. “I know him and he’s hearing something I can’t hear yet because it’s too quiet for human’s ears.”

They were already off the path for their brief refreshment, withdrawing deeper into the shadows and waiting a few minutes would do them no harm. It was clear they would reach the village before Aramis and Porths.

In the past, d’Artagnan’s hunches had often proved to be very valuable.

“All right. We can hide and wait a little. Although I suspect it was just a wild boar that spooked you.” Athos lowered himself down to the brook. Its water was not clear but it was crisp cold and felt refreshing on his face.

D’Artagnan jerked his head in a curt nod, dismounting. They led their horses into the shadows of the tall trees. Not before long, both of the friends were out of sight but they still had a good view of the crossing of the brook.

After a few tense moments when they were straining their ears, Athos was ready to declare d’Artagnan overly suspicious and urge they continue with their ride.

That was when he heard it.

The faint sound of hoofbeats was approaching.

He shared a grim look with d’Artagnan, willing their horses to keep quiet and absolutely still. Neither of them believed in a coincidence that would send someone charging through the night on the same path they had taken, at the same time.

Soon it became clear that a late night rider was coming their way. As far as Athos could tell, there was only one rider on one horse. He seemed to be in a hurry, recklessly dashing along the path, not minding the risk of falling down.

The sound drew closer and one of their horses pawed the ground anxiously. Athos reached out with his hand and stroked its muzzle. He kept his hold on the bridle. “Shush.”

“Ambush?” D’Artagnan breathed into Athos’ ear.

Athos shook his head. “We wait.”

They did not have to fear being discovered. The lone rider thundered past them, not looking left or right, urging his horse forward. The rider and his horse flew into the stream – the muddy water noisily splashed in all directions – and then the strange apparition was gone.

“Was that–?” d’Artagnan started, gaze still cast into the darkness where the rider disappeared.

Athos was not as shaken. “After her! We need to stop her!”

“Was that the count’s wife? I thought I recognized her cloak.”

How the woman was dressed when they met her the day before had escaped Athos’ notice yet he had no trouble recognizing her in the night either. “That horse surely has to be one from Naudé’s stables. Up! Up! Hurry!”

D’Artagan was moving maddeningly slowly.

“D’Artagnan!” Athos barked, already on his horse, edging directly towards the stream, not wasting any time by returning to the road.

The countess’ horse was fast and agile and she proved to be a surprisingly capable rider. They were starting to lose her in the dark.

Athos’ and d’Artagnan’s horses were much more resilient but for this fast sprint, their gallop simply was no match.

“Athos, wait!” D’Artagnan called, trying to keep pace with him.

“There is nothing to wait for,” Athos shot back, levelling himself to the horse in his saddle so no overhanging branches would knock him off.

They rode out of the forest. The sky was a little clearer here and no longer cloudy, but in the vast fields that stretched in front of them there was no sight of the woman or her horse.

“How can you be so certain?”

Athos allowed his horse to slow into a trot, unsure which direction to pursue. “Surely the concept is simple enough for you, d’Artagnan? The two Naudé’s daughters are kidnapped, a letter arrives demanding the ransom and appointing a place where the money should be traded for the girls. The inconsolable mother decides to rescue her children and save her husband’s fortune. Mother’s love is powerful.”

“Athos, I don’t–”

“We have to hurry up and help her before she falls into their hands. Lord knows what they would do to her if they discover her trying to rescue her children on her own. Foolish woman.” The last words spoken were half curse, half admiration. Athos could appreciate her desperate need to save her family but it was only another reason for them hurry before anyone could get hurt.

“But how would she know where to go?”

“She must have seen the letter,” Athos dismissed d’Artagnan’s suspicions. His sharp eyes were trying to catch any movement from the fields but there seemed to be only unmoving darkness.

“The letter won’t arrive till well into the morning! I don’t know, Athos, there is something about her I don’t like.”

“There she is!” Athos finally caught a sight of something moving to the north. It was the right direction.

Athos went off at such pace that d’Artagnan had to follow at once if he did not want to be left behind.

✣✣✣✣

There was no mud on the plains as the musketeers had feared. The countess gained a significant lead over them.

“She’s good,” d’Artagnan called out when they, yet again, lost her from sight. By this point, however, it was clear where she was headed.

“The count’s horses are fabled for winning all the races. I never realised his wife had any interest in them beyond the point of an occasional pleasure ride.”

“I’d wager her interest is not that shallow.”

They hurried after her but Athos had to admit they had no hope of catching her.

When they finally saw the village in front of them, the woman took the first road uphill, not riding into the village.

“We can’t let her do it!” Athos hissed, urging his horse to go even faster. The poor creature doubled its efforts – yet, the countess was still too fast for them to close on her.

They would not have caught up with her had she not paused atop of a hill, indecisive about her next steps.

“Madame!” Athos called to her. They were still too far away but his voice carried through the night. “Please wait! Madame Naudé!”

The woman froze – she turned to the voice and when she saw the two shadows of Athos and d’Artagnan, she let out a startled cry, urging her hose forward. She chose the road that lead towards the ruins behind the village.

“Please! Let us help you!” Athos shouted, pursuing her in a mad dash.

They three figures flew through the night, the countess first, d’Artagnan and Athos closely behind her, their swords already drawn.

“Damn it!” Athos spat out when the woman reached the outer walls of what once had been a monastery.

“We’ll help you! Wait!” Athos tried once more, desperate. Their hasty arrival was bound to alert the captors of the two girls. They would be lucky if the scoundrels decided to fight rather than harm the girls.

Athos’ cries brought no result. All three of them continued to cross the lands of the former monastery with a deadly speed – through the remains of the inner gateway, across the cloister, past the refectory and all the way to the infirmary in the far end of the gardens.

It used to be a monastery of a great importance, until the spring of 1349 when the sick from all around were treated – and buried – on the site. When the infection started to spread quickly, it was decided to abandon the whole complex and the main chapel was set on fire. Years passed and the abandoned buildings became a notorious hideout for all sorts of outlaws. And now the two young daughters of Naudé had been dragged there and held captive until the ransom would be paid.

As the woman was dismounting her horse, the door to the former infirmary opened. Three men stepped outside and Athos sucked in a breath, his heart racing. They were too far to challenge the captors into a direct fight and it was too dark to take a shot. Aramis might have taken the shot but there was no way him or d’Artagnan were risking the countess getting hurt in the crossfire.

What happened next puzzled Athos greatly. One of the men took the reins from the woman, quickly leading her horse away.

That was wrong.

The other man was guiding her inside the infirmary, opening the door for her, while the third one shielded them.

That was _dreadfully_ wrong.

“Fire!” the woman cried when she noticed that her protectors were not taking any action. “What are you waiting for?!”

“To your left!” Athos barked at d’Artagnan, noticing a half-fallen gateway they could use for cover.

“Aren’t they the king’s musketeers?” one of the male voices called out. It was probably the one who took care of the horse and was now returning to aid the fight.

“What does it matter,” shrieked the woman. “Shoot them!”

The men needed no further commands.

Athos cursed and took cover, hoping d’Artagnan would have enough time to do the same. Several bullets whistled in the air, too wide to cause them any harm.

✣✣✣✣

D’Artagnan’s tone was snide as he asked, “Do you still reckon she needs our protection?”

“I don’t understand,” Athos said. “What is she doing here? What is her role in this?”

“Oh. Isn’t it a simple enough concept for you to understand, Athos? The woman is evil, the men are evil – we fight them.”

“Surely you’re not insinuating that she has anything to do with this? She is Naudé’s wife and these are her daughters!”

“You need to be more open-minded, my friend. Do I think she had her own daughters kidnapped? Yes indeed, at this very moment nothing seems more likely!” Clearly upset, d’Artagnan gestured to the ruins of the abbey around them. “She’s working _with_ them.”

Athos grunted his reluctant acknowledgement.

The shots had ceased for the moment as the countess and the men barricaded themselves in the infirmary. As old as the building was, its walls stood strong, even if the roof had caved in a few places and nature taken over. A tall tree was rooted inside the infirmary; its roots and bark were rotten and its branches had no leaves any more but people in the village said that their grandparents remembered the leaves being scarlet all year round. Scattering from the infirmary to the cemetery bloomed red vetchlings and people believed it was because they grew from the blood of all the people who died there. Athos suspected the plants simply enjoyed the fertile ground streaked with ashes. In addition, the walls of the infirmary provided a protection against strong winter winds and snow.

“Not everyone has a code to live by, Athos,” d’Artagnan said, pressed behind the low stone wall that was still holding up.

“I know.” He knew it very intimately but despite de Winter’s efforts, he held to his belief that there was good in people, the old fool that he was.

“She must have had her daughters captured, then sent her husband the letter demanding the ransom.”

“That does not sound very reasonable,” Athos pointed out.

“I know, we must be missing something.”

“We have to make sure she won’t get hurt.”

“And the girls, Athos. We can’t be sure where exactly they are being kept or how many men are guarding them.”

“They can’t go anywhere without us seeing them and since the countess is with them, I highly doubt they would do anything harsh. It would probably be wise to wait for Porthos and Aramis before we proceed.”

“I hate waiting.”

Athos tried to keep his voice neutral as he remarked, “Yes, you’ve proved that to us many times.”

“Luckily for me, we won’t have to wait long. Listen.” D’Artagnan pointed towards the forest.

Athos listened for the sound and soon he could hear it as well. “Good. They made it faster than I thought they would.” He glanced up at the sky; it was nowhere near sunrise.

“Can you hear both of them?” Not being able to pick the noise apart, d’Artagnan tilted his head from side to side. Then he declared, sounding slightly more sure, “It’s not both of them.” As the sound grew louder, d’Artagnan added, “And it’s not coming from their direction either.”

D’Artagnan was right. The horseman was approaching left from the crossroad. Athos recalled the moment the countess appeared to be indecisive, allowing them to get a little closer to her. Had she been waiting for someone else?

Apparently, she was. The distinct figure rode out of the forest and made its unhurried way directly to the infirmary. The horse was a common one and did not help Athos place the rider. Once again, d’Artagnan surprised him by his perceptiveness.

“De Fieux,” he whispered to Athos.

Now that Athos knew what to look for, he could see all the signs as well. Monsieur Henri de Fieux was remarkably tall and he always favoured his left side since being wounded in a fight two years ago.

Holding their breaths, d’Artagnan and Athos watched as de Fieux came to a stop while he was still safely hidden behind the gateway. A wicked hiss that sounded through the night surprised them both. De Fieux repeated the call, half squeal and half whistle.

“Get inside! Hurry!” called a male voice urgently. “The musketeers are out there.”

De Fieux wasted no time and came to the infirmary at full speed and soon he was safely hidden inside of the building too. The door opened only briefly to allow him to enter and then they fell shut again. A few minutes later, a soft glow of fire could be seen coming through the roof.

“What do we do now?” D’Artagnan shifted slightly and now his side was pressing against Athos’. There was no room for Athos to shift away. Even knowing it would be futile in the darkness, he glared at the Gascon.

There were not many options for them. Their horses had managed to flee as soon as the first bullets had been fired and looking for them now in the forest would be foolish. They needed to stay put and wait until Porthos and Aramis arrived, then all four of them could try to force their way inside.

“We can’t wait, you know that, don’t you?”

Athos replied calmly, “We can’t barge in and hope for the best.”

An unsettlingly loud cry came to their ears. There was no doubt – it was the countess.

“Perhaps this is the missing piece. She is not working with them willingly. Perhaps they made her cooperate, they threatened her,” Athos said. “Don’t be always so quick to judge people, d’Artagnan, you’ll find you’re often wrong.”

If d’Artagnan understood the reproach about their first meeting, he did not let it show in his voice as he replied. “And yet, I’m not often wrong.”

“Either way, we have to come up with a plan. We can’t stay here and wait until they decide what to do with her. They might blame her for leading us here and punish her.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The roof. Unless you have another idea?”

D’Artagnan shook his head.

✣✣✣✣

The two friends crept towards the ruins and climbed up an old oak. Its branches were touching the roof and it was easy for the two of them to get across.

“I want you to know that I still have my doubts about this.” Athos leaned in to whisper to d’Artagnan.

The boy shook himself. “I’m not waiting until Porthos and Aramis get here. By the time they do, it might be too late for the two girls _and_ their mother. Are you willing to risk that? Are you?” he hissed.

Athos did not say anything. They separated, each of them standing above a different exit from the ruins. Athos’ task would be to block the door and d’Artagnan placed himself near the windows.

The musketeers nodded to each other, counted to four, and barged inside.

D’Artagnan was right about one thing – they managed to take the thugs by surprise. It won them precious seconds until the men started reacting to the intrusion.

Athos managed to disarm two of them and a third man seemed to have problems loading his pistol and aiming it. Athos swiftly knocked it out of his hands with his sword.

Likewise, the other men were no match for d’Artagnan. By the time Athos glanced over his shoulder to see if d’Artagnan would need his interference, the fight was over.

With the tip of his boot, d’Artagnan sent the thug’s sword rattling across the room. He was holding the tip of his sword to the man’s throat.

Athos turned back, only to see the two thugs gaining on him again. The third man grappled with the door and was escaping. Athos cursed under his breath. His carelessness had cost him. He should have secured the two men before checking on d’Artagnan. It was not like d’Artagnan could not hold his own.

The two thugs leapt at him at the same time and Athos barely managed to doge them. He sidestepped and ducked, blocking the blow to his chest without difficulty. He grabbed one of the men, yanking him off balance, and used him as a shield against the other.

Then it was just a matter of a few skilfully placed hits and the two men slumped to the floor.

Athos did not wait to see if they were coming up to their feet again and started after the third man who was trying to run away. He would not have anyone getting away on his watch.

From what he could see inside of the ruins, the girls were not being kept hostage there. If the man got away, he might get to the girls and either move them to some location the other thugs did not know about or worse, he might decide to kill the innocent children.

For practical reasons, there was an old cemetery behind the infirmary. The escaping man headed there and Athos rushed after him, before his silhouette could disappear between the shadows of the plain wooden crosses, most of which were half-missing, their wood rotten.

The man seemed to be limping slightly on his right foot. Athos managed to catch up with him and overpower him. The man fought back hard, easily deflecting the direct hit from Athos’ sword. It took Athos by surprise but did not stop him. He launched at the man and they both hit the ground. Athos managed to land a good punch to the man’s jaw, making his teeth click together.

From the ruins came a horrible, blood-chilling crackle. The wood splintered, and the roof started to collapse. The old oak was uprooted as it could not hold its own weight when it was no longer supported by the roof.

A raw, angry howl was torn from Athos’ throat.

With a powerful strike of his elbow to the man’s temple, he managed to stop his opponent. Then he could only watch helplessly, as the roof came down and caught fire. Athos suspected one of the watchfire torches the thugs had lit came loose during the fight, setting the place ablaze.

The withered wood was quick to burn and the roof was soon consumed by one giant flame.

“D’Artagnan!” Athos shouted, struggling to get back up on his knees. He seemed to be frozen, his mind back on the explosion that had made him think they’d lost the boy. It would have been his fault, for letting d’Artagnan get locked up with Vadim. If anything happened to him now, his blood would be on Athos’ hands, too.

It had been his idea to choose a different road than Aramis and Porthos. Moreover, it was his acceptance of d’Artagnan’s rash decision to fight rather than wait for the help of the other two musketeers that had got them into this mess.

He ran towards the ruins while the flames were still hungrily licking at everything that was within their touch.

In front of the ruins stood Madame Naudé. She was dragging a half-conscious d’Artagnan behind her, struggling with every step to get further away from the fire.

The moment Athos recognized them, he sunk to the grass, his chest constricting. The two figures melted into flickering sorts of darkness and bright, orange blaze. But it was not a mirage, it was really d’Artagan and the woman neither of them had expected to see tonight.

“You saved him,” Athos choked out.

The air was filled with smoke.

The woman let go of the musketeer she had rescued from the ruins.

Athos could not get up. He crawled closer to them to check the extent of his friend’s wounds. There was a nasty looking gash on d’Artagnan’s forehead and a shallow cut from a short sword to his chest. Neither of which concerned Athos as much as the open stab to his abdomen. The blood was oozing out and Athos’ breath hitched in his throat as his fingers met the wet substance.

“D’Artagnan?”

There was no answer.

His heart began to race.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos repeated, giving the boy’s cheek a slight slap. D’Artagnan let out a low moan of pain but he did not wake.

Athos carefully lay him down in a more comfortable position. Naudé stumbled to them, tearing off a long strip of her gown. Athos took it and pressed it to the wound.

“Come on, come on,” Athos grumbled. The men could be getting away and the one Athos had been pursuing was most certainly gone by now.

Athos could not find it in him to leave his friend without the immediate care he needed. As far as honour was concerned, their first responsibility was always to the quest they were tasked with. But to Athos, there was nothing more precious than the lives of his fellow musketeers. He cursed himself when he realized it, but there was no force in the world that would make him leave d’Artagnan’s side now that the boy needed him there. He would rather break the code than leave his friend to bleed out. His conscience would not take it.

Aramis had taught them what little he knew about dressing wounds and Athos knew that every minute could be crucial. And even then, the loss of blood was not their only concern. Putrefaction was always a risk, as was the general shock and exposure.

He touched his hand to the boy’s burning forehead.

“Don’t do this to me,” Athos breathed out, hardly conscious of having uttered the words.

The fire started to die out on its own, the stone walls preventing it from spreading further through the grounds.

Naudé sat down heavily onto the grassy slope and started weeping, not caring one bit that her clothing was torn and getting even more muddy. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman they had met only yesterday, the one who had wept bitterly into her white handkerchief upon discovering her children missing. She had looked so petite then.

He was obliged to escort Naudé immediately back to her husband but the scoundrels might come back and find d’Artagnan here, defenceless.

“Don’t even think about running,” Athos said to Naudé, his tone harsh and cold. “Rather try to give me an explanation for everything that has happened here tonight.”

She let out a sob and shook her head. Her hair had been braided into an intricate pattern and spiked with several precious stones but now her strands had come loose and she looked no more like a lady than a common maid.

Athos would wait for Porthos and Aramis. Like they should have done in the first place.

There wasn’t much he could do for d’Artagnan. The strip of Naudé’s gown was getting soaked through with d’Artagnan’s blood.

Athos thoughts were as dark as the sky above them.

✣✣✣✣

“Athos! What happened here?”

“We saw the flames from half a mile away!”

Athos raised his head. The desperation in his eyes made his friends hurry to dismount and rush over to him.

“How is he?” Aramis asked, taking in the situation. He knelt next to the boy and leaned over to check the wounds himself. He pulled one of d’Artagnan’s eyelids back to check the responsiveness of his eyes.

“I don’t know, Aramis, I honestly don’t know.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Porthos said. “I’ve seen men weaker than d’Artagnan recover from wounds worse than that.”

So had Athos, but that did not ease his worry in the slightest. He could not afford to show his concern in front of his fellow musketeers. He shook himself. “We seem to have bigger problems than we thought.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” Porthos grumbled. “When does anything go according to our plans?”

“Maybe when we actually do have a good plan?” Aramis suggested lightly.

“We don’t have _any_ plan right now,” Athos cut in. “D’Artagnan is wounded, we lost the thugs, the girls weren’t even here in the first place and… well. Why don’t you tell them the rest of the story, Madame?” Athos turned to face Naudé and both of his friends swivelled around to see who he was talking to.

“Madame Naudé!” Aramis exclaimed, taken by surprise.

Naudé casted her bloodshot eyes over the musketeers and burst into tears again. Athos let out a heavy sigh.

“Now, now,” Aramis said, reaching to her and patting her hand. “It’s all going to be all right.”

“No, no it won’t be! Because Henri is gone and the girls are gone and now I… I…” She started sobbing in earnest and her words became difficult to understand.

Aramis, always quick to disregard any rules of the etiquette, gently pulled the weeping woman to his chest, “Hush, hush now, my dear, hush.”

‘Henri?’ Porthos mouthed at Athos.

“Yes, Henri de Fieux,” Athos said and then, with an absolute clarity he realized that it was no one else but de Fieux who put up such a good fight and escaped him. “He got away.”

“I don’t understand it. What are they doing here? And where are the girls?”

Aramis had barely managed to get Naudé’s sobs to subside when Porthos’ last question started a new round of tears.

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose, having had enough of wailing for one night. Brutal honestly always seemed to work the best. “No one knows where the girls are, Porthos.”

At Athos’ words, Naudé flinched, her chest heaving and her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. She then caught her breath and continued with her sobs.

“Porthos, please search the ruins,” Athos commanded. “But be careful. The whole thing might collapse.”

As they waited for Porthos to finish his search, Athos paced restlessly back and forth, while the woman was shivering in Aramis’s gentle embrace.

Porthos strode back to them in a matter of minutes, dragging one of the scoundrels with him. The man was bleeding badly from a deep wound in his thigh. Athos averted his eyes when he caught a glimpse of a white bone. It was not a pretty sight and he could already tell the man would not live to see another sunrise.

“He’s the last one. No one else is there,” Porthos reported. He laid the scoundrel on the ground, none-too gently. Aramis let go of Naudé and knelt down by the man, probing at the wound.

The scene spiked the woman’s interest and she watched them out of teary eyes.

Aramis crossed himself, then murmured a soft prayer for the man’s soul and stood up again.

“What are you doing?!” Naudé asked.

“There is nothing we can do for him, Madame.”

Upon hearing those terrible words, the countess became paler than death. Even in the dim light, they could all see the abrupt change in her.

“No! No! There must be something! Anything!” Still on her knees, she crawled over the ground on all fours, not caring one bit for her dignity.

She could do no harm any more, so they left her alone, curious to see what her intentions were.

The woman reached the man and her fingers dug into his shoulders like claws. He let out an incoherent moan of pain.

“Where are they?” she hissed.

Porthos grabbed the woman by her waist and raised her to her feet. She teetered alarmingly but Aramis was there to offer his support.

“I’m afraid he can’t tell us, Madame,” Aramis said quietly, taking her weight.

The woman become inconsolable.

Athos believed it was because it had dawned on her that she had brought death upon them. Face to face with the consequence of her actions, the realisation must have been devastating for her.

Athos’ assumptions were incorrect. The woman slipped out of Aramis’ hold and sunk again to the ground next to the man. This time her fingers reached for the gaping wound.

The man let out a pained cry as she sunk her nails into the tender flesh. The man’s muscles twitched, then he settled and went quiet.

“Where are they?!” The woman shrieked, blinded by madness.

All three of them had to drag her away as she fought them with all her strength.

After several moments, Aramis beckoned to Porthos. Porthos gathered the prone body of the man and headed behind the walls of the ruins. Surely he could find a shallow grave in the cemetery and dispose of the body there.

Naudé was hysterical. Nothing Aramis said to her helped.

“I… I… I don’t know where… where they took them,” she bemoaned. “I couldn’t have known when I hired them! I couldn’t! Oh, where are my girls? Oh!”

She succumbed to her tears, momentarily breaking off her lament. Then she wiped at her face and turned to Aramis, who was still standing close to her, as if he wanted to help her but was not sure how.

“Oh, where are they? You have to find my girls for me. Please, I’m begging you.” She latched onto the hem of Aramis’ long coat and her fingers would not let go for anything in the world. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Name your price and find them! Find them!”

“We will do everything in our power to find the girls. You have my word,” Aramis said.

“You have to promise me you’ll find them!”

“We will do our best, Madame.”

“And you, Madame, should try to get some sleep,” Porthos advised. “We will return to Paris in the morning and start searching for them. You’ll need all your strength.”

Naudé nodded and, still sniffling, she curled down on the ground next to d’Artagnan. Soon, the countess was fast asleep, all her energy completely drained.

Aramis took of his coat and threw it across her shoulders. “The poor soul.”

Athos frowned, recalling one of Naudé’s remarks. “This doesn’t make any sense. She _had them hired_?”

A moment of thoughtful silence passed between the three musketeers.

“I believe,” Aramis sighed and crossed himself, “that she was having an affair with the young Henri de Fieux.”

Porthos stopped inspecting the blade of his sword and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he her cousin twice removed?”

Aramis shrugged. “Everyone knows how thrifty her husband is.”

“A terrible scrooge, that’s what he is.” Porthos nodded. “And he’s twice her age. Couldn’t really blame her if she had his throat slit.”

“Porthos!” Aramis hissed, glancing down at the sleeping woman with a kind, understanding expression that only made Porthos scowl harder.

“What? Everyone knows how horrible he is to her.”

“However, she doesn’t completely hate him,” Athos interjected. “That’s why she wouldn’t have him killed. She wanted to run away from him. With his money.”

Aramis’ expression turned pensive. “So she had her own children kidnapped? Just so that her husband would pay the ransom and she could get his money?”

“How could she do that? To her own children, no less. The old hag!” Porthos spat on the ground in disgust.

“Listen,” Athos said abruptly, “you need to try to catch de Fieux before he vanishes completely. If he was with her in this sham from the beginning, he might know where the girls are being kept.”

“You reckon he got away from the fire?”

“Yes. We fought and he managed to slip away,” Athos admitted grumpily and pointed to the general direction where the man disappeared. “You still have a chance of catching up with him. He wasn’t on horseback.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time,” Porthos said.

“Where are your horses?”

“Probably halfway back to Paris.” Athos sighed. “The gunfire spooked them.”

Aramis took a step closer so he could give Athos’ shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “D’Artagnan is in no shape to be moved.”

“I know.”

“Just the two of us, again, my friend?” Porthos asked.

“Seems like it,” Aramis nodded and went to retrieve his coat.

The countess roused. “Where are you going?” She appeared to be wide awake in an instant.

“Go back to sleep. We are going to follow some clues. You and Athos here,” Aramis nodded towards Athos, “are going to wait here until morning. Once our friend is feeling better, you will return to Paris.”

Naudé glanced down to the musketeer at her side. His chest was visibly rising and falling but apart from that, he did not seem to be in a good state. The bloodstains on his bandage were clearly visible.

“You gave me your word,” she hissed.

“Which I’m keeping, Madame,” Aramis said, finally managing to get his coat back. He shrugged it on and put on his hat.

Porthos stood with his back to them, glaring into the night. “How are _you_ getting back?” he asked Athos.

“There should be two horses in the stables behind the wall. De Fieux’s and Naudé’s.”

“Ah.”

“I just hope the fire didn’t do any damage there.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.” Porthos dismissed his friends’ worry.

Athos nodded in acknowledgement. “We’ll meet in Paris, then?”

✣✣✣✣

D’Artagnan came awake about an hour later. He blinked, his eyes opened, he turned his head around and tried to lift himself up on his elbows. The pain that shot through him twisted his face into a grimace and stilled his movements.

Athos watched him silently.

D’Artagnan’s eyes moved from his wound to the sleeping countess, then he looked towards the ruins of the infirmary.

“Morning,” Athos said grimly.

D’Artagnan sharply turned his head, not having noticed Athos before.

“Morning,” he returned with a croak. His eyes skimmed their surroundings once more.  
“Porthos and Aramis aren’t here yet?” he asked with a hint of worry in his tone. His breath was coming out short and wet, little hitches noticeable in the pattern of his breathing.

“They are fine, d’Artagnan. They’ve set off to pursue de Fieux. We’re hoping he might lead them to the girls.”

The boy scowled. “You didn’t go with them? Are you injured?”

“I am not injured, d’Artagnan,” Athos said slowly. “It wouldn’t help the girls in the slightest if you fell unconscious and the kidnappers returned to finish you off.”

“You should have gone,” d’Artagnan grumbled stubbornly. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

Athos did not take the bait and ignored the comment. “Try to drink a little.” He offered the Gascon his flask.

“It’s not wine, is it? I always thought that’s all you carried on you.”

“It would have certainly proved to be more beneficial to my nerves when dealing with you.”

D’Artagnan huffed a laugh and took a sip of water, then he handed the flash back to Athos.

The morning air was sharp. It was still early.

“I’ll keep watch. Sleep, d’Artagnan.”

“I don’t feel sleepy anymore. We can go.” D’Artagnan was insistent.

“Ah. Certainly, let me just get the horses first,” Athos said, placatingly. He made no effort to get up.

“Uh hmm,” d’Artagnan agreed.

Athos allowed himself a small smile as watched the boy fall into dreamless slumber.

The next time the boy woke, he seemed to be feeling better. He actually managed to draw his feet under himself and get up.

Athos watched his progress from a few feet away, fingers inching to offer a helping hand.

“I see you’re up already,” he said calmly. “I should ready the horses.” He waited a heartbeat or two, giving d’Artagnan a chance to voice his protests. D’Artagnan remained silent, determined not to hold them up any longer.

If d’Artagnan wanted to play the martyr, Athos would not try to stop him. He went to look for the horses, finding them tried to a tree trunk behind the wall of the infirmary. They did not seem to have been hurt during the events of the previous night.

In the meantime, d’Artagnan woke up the countess and collected their sparse belongings. Athos returned, helped Naudé on the horse and then he helped d’Artagnan mount the other horse. The sharp pained hiss did not escape his notice but they were both content with pretending everything was all right.

Their progress was slow. By an unspoken agreement, they chose to return by the longer route. The terrain would be more even and not as jarring to d’Artagnan’s injury. Time was no longer their enemy.

“I still don’t understand it,” d’Artagnan said, turning to look at the countess and gasping slightly when the movement tugged at his wound.

“Sit still,” Athos grumbled, earning a defiant look from the Gascon. “What don’t you understand?”

“What is there not to understand?” Naudé replied hotly, having overheard them.

“I don’t understand how anyone could get into a situation where they would be desperate enough to do what you did.”

Naudé’s gaze turned cold. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Not everyone is allowed to marry whom their heart desires, d’Artagnan,” Athos said, priding himself for managing to keep his voice even and his tone disinterested, as if he was merely making a remark about the weather.

Naudé sniffled. “Indeed.”

“You were married young,” Athos prompted.

“I was young, he was not. It was a matter of politics rather than any affection.”

“I’m sure Naudé took pride in having a bride as beautiful as you are, Madame,” d’Artagnan said but his words only managed to make Naudé more upset.

“You are right, musketeer,” she said. “He took pride in having acquired such beautiful piece to add to his collection of statues and paintings.”

“Surely he felt more for you that for a sculpted piece of sandstone.” D’Artagnan’s tone was incredulous.

“Marble,” Naudé corrected absent-mindedly.

“But,” d’Artagnan huffed, “you gave him two daughters! Wasn’t he thankful for such a blessing?”

Athos tried to catch d’Artagnan’s eye to make him stop aggravating their companion but d’Artagnan’s eyes were locked on the countess.

“They were two girls, d’Artagnan,” Athos explained after a while, when it was clear Naudé would not make a comment. “Not a boy, not a real heir.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened. “So he doesn’t love you?”

Naudé laughed, the sound like wind rattling the windows. There was no mirth in it. “I found no love in my marriage.”

“Oh, so, you found de Fieux–”

“D’Artagnan!” Athos snapped in a desperate attempt to silence the boy.

“It’s all right,” Naudé said. “Henri was giving my firstborn daughter singing lessons, that’s how I met him. We are both young and we fell in love.” She held up her chin, as if daring them to comment on her bold statement. A statement that could get her executed.

Neither of the musketeers said anything. Athos knew all too much about the tantalizing lure of a forbidden love, and d’Artagnan was too shocked to make any further inquiries.

Naudé did not need any encouragement. The things she had to keep for herself for so long were bubbling to the surface and she could not keep them locked in any longer. She continued to tell them her terrible secret. The confession did not make her heart feel lighter, nor did it rouse any pity from the two musketeers.

They did not condemn her but they knew it was her selfish choices that lead her to where she was now. Athos saw it as a weakness, putting one’s desires before one’s duty, while d’Artagnan saw it as a betraying Naudé’s daughters as well as her husband.

They finally understood the horrible deed she had done. She had had her two daughters kidnapped for the ransom money she had intended to split with de Fieux. They would take the girls and start a new life together. They dreamed about boarding a ship to New France, Naudé admitted to them.

It was when she had tried to negotiate with the thugs she hired for the kidnapping that things had gone awry. She had been meeting the captors at the old monastery to warn them about her husband’s suspicion and about the musketeers that were hot on their tails. She arrived too late and was shocked to learn she had been deceived by the men. The thugs were smart, they did not have the girls with them where they were hiding, they had hidden them somewhere else to await the transport.

The musketeers knew the story from that point. Naudé fell silent. D’Artagnan stopped asking questions, his curiosity satisfied. Athos could see the sheen of sweat that had started forming on the boy’s forehead several minutes into their ride. There was nothing he could do for him, except to make sure the pace of the horse was mild.

The sun was shining high in the sky when the three of them found their way back to Paris.

✣✣✣✣

They returned to Paris through the north gate and encountered a small market when passing through a parvis. Even though the morning was long gone along with the main influx of customers, the merchants still had their goods out on view. Precious gems, golden embroidery, beautiful jewellery, intricately ornamented necklaces, looking glasses, sitting chairs, guéridons and tapestries.

Athos kept a watchful eye on the horses to make sure they would not upset any pottery on display on blankets covering the cobbled street.

All of a sudden, the vicomte’s wife paled terribly and began trembling so badly Athos was worried she might fall off her horse.

He quickly looked around but the market appeared to be safe. “Is something the matter, Madame?”

One hand clutched to her chest, she gave into bitter crying. “That… that pendant here, ah alas! All is lost!”

To their left, Athos spotted the offending piece of jewellery. It was of a very delicate handiwork. The gold was shining brightly and the precious red stones gleamed like a fine wine.

“Quite the contrary, Madame. Family heirloom, I presume?”

“Catherine… my daughter… it was Catherine’s,” she wailed.

Handing the reins over to d’Artagnan, Athos dismounted to speak to the merchant who was eyeing them with a worried frown.

“How much for this pendant?”

The merchant named an outrageous price and Athos scoffed. It was more than he had on his person and frankly, it was more than the musketeers could afford had all four of them put their income together to pay for the pendant. There was no other option.

He beckoned to d’Artagnan to mind the horses and to keep an eye on Naudé.

“Where did you get a pendant which clearly belongs to a vicomte?” Athos kept his voice low and cutting. He could see the merchant recognized that particular tone of voice. He was probably also aware that he was dealing with a musketeer.

“I swear I didn’t st-steal anything, sir!”

“I’m not saying you did,” Athos said, voice harsh but dangerously quiet. “I recognize the seal. It is the same as the family’s coat of arms. I’m asking you how this pendant came into your possession. Answer my question and think wisely about what you are going to answer me. If you tell the truth, you shall have nothing to fear. Speak freely. Who gave it to you?”

“Th-there was a man in the ta-tavern in Clichy,” the man bemoaned. “Please, kind s-sir, this is the truth. We played at cards and I won it and now I’m selling it.”

The man was shaking like a leaf.

“Very well. What did the man look like? Do you recall that?”

“He had a s-scar on his left hand, s-sir. Sliced from his wrist to his f-forefinger. He was older than you. And s-smaller.” The man held a shaking hand halfway up to Athos’ arm.

“And his hair? Brown?” Athos asked briskly.

“Yes. I t-think he had brown hair, s-sir.”

Athos reached into his pocket and gave the man all the money he had on him. It was more than the man deserved. “Thank you,” Athos said simply. He nodded his head curtly and touched the brim of his hat. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.” He grabbed the pendant and placed it into his pouch.

“T-thank you, kind s-sir,” the merchant bowed, his nose nearly touching the ground.

D’Artagnan barely managed to hide his smile.

“I see you’re doing better,” Athos observed.

“I’m fine,” d’Aartagnan sighed. “Don’t worry.”

“Are you well enough to ride to Clichy?”

“Most certainly. We should accompany Madame Naudé back to her husband first, though.”

“Most certainly,” Athos echoed.

✣✣✣✣

“Do you even know where in Clichy we are going?” d’Artagnan asked after they had made sure Naudé reached her house in safety.

“I wouldn’t know–”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful. You don’t expect us to go knocking on every house until you find the man, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Athos repeated, “where to begin looking if it weren’t for Porthos.”

“Ah. All right. Are we waiting for Porthos to come back?”

“D’Artagnan, my friend, you forget that I learn fast. I don’t need Pothros to show me the way again. There are a few places Monnier frequents.”

“Oh. I see,” d’Artagnan muttered.

“One more thing,” Athos said. “We can’t go in dressed like this.”

The two musketeers changed into common clothers so they would not stand out in the crowds. They left their horses in a tavern a safe distance away and walked the rest of the way in case someone noticed them. No one was paying them any heed. In their rags and shabby clothes, they were simply ignored, like everyone else.

Athos pulled the hood of his torn cloak back from his face as he entered a shady tavern tucked into a corner of a street behind a market place. He nodded to the innkeeper. The innkeeper was an aging man with thinning white hair and a bushy white beard. His eyes were sharp. He nodded back to Athos, his blue eyes narrowing when he noticed d’Artagnan. Athos reached behind him to grip d’Artagnan’s shoulder and yank him inside. He pushed the boy in front of him and made him walk first, keeping his hold firm on his shoulder. D’Artagnan tensed, inhaling sharply through his nose. His wound was not bleeding any more but it made every step painful.

Athos knew that. He sneered at the innkeeper. The man kept staring at d’Artagnan for a few tense moments before he went back to scrubbing the counter with a rug so dirty it left smudges behind where he tried to rub the counter clean.

Athos called out, “In the back?”

The innkeeper nodded for the third time but he did not bother to raise his head again.

Athos quickly manoeuvred them through the pub. This was the third place they had tried and by far it was the most risky one to visit. He was glad d’Artagnan was not asking any questions.

D’Artagnan and Athos slipped in the back of the tavern and when they pushed aside a wide curtain that contained more holes than textile, Athos breathed out a small sigh of relief.

There he sat, the man with a jagged scar on his hand and a nasty smile on his face. There were five dice on the table in front of him and a wooden cup, obviously much used. The wood was blackened in places, the smudges in the exact shape of the man’s thick, short fingers.

Athos did not say a word, he simply reached into his pockets and threw the familiar ruby pendant on the table next to the dice.

The man grabbed it with eager hands, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Let’s play.”

Athos took a seat but made a gesture for d’Artagnan to keep standing.

The man raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

Athos forced a smile as sleazy as he could manage. “You’d better make it quick, Monnier, I don’t want to waste all day.” He reached for d’Artagnan again, this time touching his waist gently to tug him closer to the table. “Be my good luck charm, boy.”

The man, Monnier, returned the smile. He grabbed all the dice and palmed them into the cup.

About two hours later, they were making their way back on the street. They had lost the pendant without making any money from the deal. Athos seemed to be all out of luck.

“What a waste of time,” d’Artagnan sighed.

“Not completely!” Athos said and his stern expression brightened momentarily when he glanced at his confused companion. “We learned a thing or two about the kidnapping, even if Monnier thinks he never said a word.”

“We still don’t know where the girls are kept.”

“We don’t,” Athos had to agree.

“They could be being sold to slavery and boarding the ships as we speak.”

Athos’ face fell completely. “Right. Perhaps we shouldn’t have come. Pity about the ruby stone, too. The etching was a fine, delicate handiwork.”

“Oh,” d’Artaghan said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “We can still return it to the family.” He reached to his pocket and pulled out the pendant.

“D’Artagnan!”

“I couldn’t help myself! And it’s not like your friend Monnier was paying attention by the end of your game.”

“He’s not my friend,” Athos muttered but he held out his palm for the pendant.

D’Artagnan gave it to him without protesting.

✣✣✣✣

The two friends returned to the musketeer’s garrison, where they sat down on the wooden benches in the courtyard. D’Artagnan got someone to check out his wound for him, Athos made a report to Tréville. There was little they could do now.

If Monnier’s sources were correct, the girls were meant to be sold at the port. The two musketeers did not have any clues left where to search for the poor girls. They would never make it in time, even if they set off now.

“They’re back,” d’Artagnan suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Athos’ dark musings.

Athos glanced up in time to see Porthos and Aramis returning, the two girls in tow.

Both musketeers jumped to their feet.

Athos rushed to Aramis, who was riding his horse and holding one of the kidnapped girls in front of him. Athos reached out and Aramis carefully deposited the girl into his outstretched hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see Porthos hand the other girl over to d’Artagnan.

The girl that had been riding with Aramis was the older one.

“Hello, Catherine,” Athos said. “Your mother has been worried about you. You will be seeing her shortly.”

The moment the girls were safely put back on the ground, they stumbled towards each other and huddled close, still scared.

Their expressions spoke of all the turmoil they had been through. There was no place for the usual play that children their age were preoccupied with.

The two daughters trembled at the sight of all the armed men that had gathered to look at them.

Athos and Porthos took a step back.

Aramis knelt down to the girls, speaking to them in a gentle tone as he straightened their clothes and wrapped them in his coat. The children clutched each other and would not be separated.

The musketeers saw no sense in trying to tear them apart. The poor things were already too stressed.

The three of them watched as Aramis tried to stop the girls from shaking and to coax them into sitting on the benches and eating some cheese and eggs.

“How–?”

“De Fieux,” Porthos said. “We caught up with him and kept tailing him for a few miles. He led us straight to the girls.”

“Thank God,” d’Artagnan breathed.

“He wouldn’t say,” Porhos added, “but I would bet my best musket that he was taking them further west, to the sea.”

“A wager you’d win,” Athos agreed.

“De Fieux didn’t love the countess either,” d’Artagnan said with dawning realization. “He was probably the one to suggest they hired those thugs and he was hoping to steal her money and the ransom, as well as her children.”

Porthos scratched his nose. “I can’t decide who is worse. Him or Naudé.”

Athos sighed. “Someone should send for Naudé.” He bellowed to the other musketeers. “Tell them we found the girls.”

✣✣✣✣

Naudé sent a message back to the garrison, requesting the girls be escorted home.

The four friends exchanged pained looks upon hearing that but they obliged.

They let Aramis approach the girls again. By far, he was the one children seemed to actually trust. Aramis heaved the girls up on his horse. He took the reins and walked by the animal’s side, still merrily chattering at the girls. The girls never said a word.

Despite repeated reassurances that the musketeers were taking the girls back to their mother and father, the girls did not believe them and kept sniffling, cuddling each other and flinching at every loud sound.

“I hate to see that this is what Naudé caused,” d’Artagnan said to Athos. “I doubt she thought it through.”

“I don’t think she could have predicted all of this,” Athos said.

“De Fieux trying to take her money, selling the daughters and deserting her?”

“You see my point.”

Mounting their horses again, the three musketeers trailed after Aramis and the girls, keeping a respectful distance between them.

It did not take long to reach the house at which the Naudé’s family resided. The reunion was quiet, the girls would not say a word. Naudé kept clutching at her husband, at first reluctant to approach the girls. But then she made a strangled sound and tore away from her husband, rushing over to the girls, kneeling down to them and embracing them both. She pulled the girls close to her chest, her hands cupping their heads.

The comte kept his decorum, slowly descending the stairs to the street. He met the musketeers, shook their hands and thanked them all for their service. He made it plain that his generosity would soon be known to Tréville.

Then he joined his wife, extending his hands to the girls. The younger one turned from her mother, made a brief curtsy and then placed her hand into her father’s. Impatient, the comte called to the other daughter, “Catherine!”

The girl, too, parted from her mother and at a slow pace, she came to her father. The three of them then retired to their home.

“Madame,” Athos called out before Naudé could follow her family inside. He quickly dismounted and gestured to d’Artagnan to mind the horse.

Naudé rose from the ground, trying to secretly dab at her eyes. They all pretended not to notice the redness of her cheeks and eyes.

“We managed to retrieve the pendant that belongs to your family, Madame,” Athos said.

Before he could give it back to her, she caught his arm. “Keep it!” She hissed. “Keep that wretched thing, I don’t ever want to see it again!”

“Ah. Of course, Madame.”

She held her head up high and looked him in the eye. She was the comtess again, Athos could see the change in her. The change went beyond her now pristine clothing, beyond all the gold and precious stone adding to her beauty and beyond her carefully kept hair. No, it was something else that had changed in her. She knew her position and she knew she would always have her husband’s protection. She also knew neither Athos nor d’Artagnan would ever say anything about that fateful night. They owed her for sparing d’Artagnan’s life and she was well aware of the power held in that favour.

She locked gazes with Athos’. They both knew that this was it, no one would ever bring up de Fieux’s name again, no one would accuse her. Finally, she pressed her lips into a thin line and glanced away.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she called out, louder. “I will never forget your service.”

“It’s our duty, Madame,” Aramis called back, adding one of his charming smiles.

Naudé turned away and begun climbing up the staircase to her house. All Aramis got for his trouble was a sharp elbow to his ribs from Porthos.

“There is no redemption for you, my friend.”

Athos turned away, too, and returned to his friends. D’Artagnan handed him the reins of his horse and Athos took them with a practiced ease, managing to avoid accidentally brushing his fingers against d’Artagnan’s.

The front door fell shut behind the comtess.

“This is all we get?” Porthos said aloud what they’ve all been thinking.

“Well,” Athos said, patting his pockets. “Not all. It seems we get to keep this.”

He pulled out the ruby pendant to show to the other musketeers. The stone gleamed in the dark like blood and Athos understood very suddenly why Naudé refused to have it back.

That was why he did not protest against the suggestion Porthos made next.

“Tavern, wine and cards! Gentlemen, I knew tonight would be a good night,” Porthos said, perking up and rubbing his hands together. “Lead the way, my friend,” he said, taking Athos around the shoulders.

✣✣✣✣

Porthos threw his cards on the table, disappointed by his options.

“Not a good day, after all?” Aramis teased him.

“It just doesn’t sit well with me. That the countess is going to walk free, no consequences for what she did.”

“There would never be any trial for her, Porthos. Naudé is too powerful,” Aramis said gently.

“Her husband wouldn’t allow any scandal. He would have supported her even if he did believe our claims that it was her who had them kidnapped,” d’Artagnan nodded. “And can you imagine saying to his face that she did it because she had a lover? And that the lover cared more about her money than her? Naudé wound deny or dismiss any of the accusations raised against his wife.”

Porthos grumbled. “Maybe he would talk differently if he knew about how his wife planned to run away with that…”

“For that young gentleman, de Fieux.”

“Yes, him.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Good thing we got to the girls in time,” Pothos said, a full body shiver running through him. Aramis placed an arm around his shoulder and when Porthos relaxed against him, Aramis skilfully retrieved one ace from the sleeve of Prothos’ jacket and tucked it among his cards.

“Good thing.” Athos downed his drink. He was growing tired of having Naudé be the sole topic of their conversation. All he wanted to do was forget the whole episode had ever happened. “I’ll be going. Good night, gentlemen.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan called, throwing some coins on the table and rushing after his friend. “Athos, wait for me.”

Athos put on his hat, his scarf and pulled the cloak a little tighter around himself. The nights were getting cold. He set out towards his home in slow, unhurried steps.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan huffed when he caught up with him.

Athos let the boy join him but did not start a conversation.

“I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault,” d’Artagnan said after a while. “That Naudé isn’t going to be punished for what she did.”

“Well,” Athos said to buy himself some time. “Quid pro quo. She could have left you to die in those ruins.”

D’Artagnan shivered but Ahtos doubted it had anything to do with the cold. “She spared my life.”

“That’s why we’ll spare hers. No one needs to know what really happened. She knows better than to ever mention anything. And I trust you.”

“What about de Fieux?”

“He didn’t know the whole story. And if Aramis’ guess is right, he has already bribed the jailer and is heading to New France.”

They arrived at an intersection where their paths separated. Both of them paused to carry on with their debate.

“I will never understand why she was so charmed by him.”

D’Artagnan was not so quick to judge her. “You have to remember she was married young, to a man as old as her father was at the time.”

“That doesn’t mean she should have abandoned her responsibilities just because she fell in love with someone else!” Athos could not help but voice his protest. The foolish Gascon made it seem like love would justify all crimes. Athos hotly disagreed with that. Reason had to be applied when emotions of a fickle heart made one yearn for impossible things.

Something sad settled deep in d’Artagnan ‘s gaze. Athos only caught a brief glimpse of it before the boy averted his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. Goodnight, Athos.”

“Goodnight,” Arhos replied and watched his friend leave with the sense that he had said something that had upset the boy.

“D’Artagnan!”

“Yes?”

Athos waited a moment. “Next time, be more careful,” he said in the end.

D’Artagnan smiled. “There won’t be a next time, Athos.”

“Do not try to deceive me.” Athos dismissed the false reassuring. He knew better than that. It was their task to seek out danger.

“I can promise to be more careful next time?”

“That would be agreeable,” Athos allowed. “And completely pointless. You’re always doing reckless things.”

“Doing reckless things doesn’t always yield bad results, Athos.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Athos said, waving his friend off.

“You just wait and see.” D’Artagnan laughed, something like a challenge and a stubborn determination setting into his features.

Athos knew that look and he feared it because there was no telling what d’Artagnan would do next. Once the Gascon became determined, there was no stopping him.

As he desperately tried to think of a good reply, his heart pounding in his chest, d’Artagnan turned and resumed his walk.

“See you tomorrow, Athos,” d’Artaganan called over his shoulder as he retreated.

“Farewell.”

Athos waited until he could no longer see him and only then he walked away from the crossing, bitterly wishing for a drink.

Trouble, he thought. The boy only meant trouble.


End file.
